There's a void in my heart
obviously, an irreplaceable one.
How much I have loved watching you grow,
you fall in love, laughing at nonsensical jokes,
you fluttering like a butterfly,
rising every day to shine.
How I longed to see you live,
live every moment after your rent victory
but you left, leaving this emptiness
unbreakable, unreplaceable emptiness
I can be a new me
but an old one, I don't know
if that is ever going to be in your absence.
Fear, 'Daar'
I wonder if it wasn't there
how would I be,
"free", you say. From all the expectations and the boundaries.
Who would I be?
"Me", you say. The core,
that accepts me as a whole
with all her flaws and insecurities.
What would I see?
The vulnerabilities that reside in every nook and crannies
of human arteries.
Where would I be if fear weren't there?
"Is life possible without the feeling of fear?"
A rhetorical question;
yet I ask why is it there?
the fear, the scare, the trauma, the anxiety
the condition I guess,
from the society
when would I flee
from this fear, Daar from the society?
I guess, the day when I will finally accept me,
"the bithcy, the ugly, the ignorant me."
Without any question
without any judgment me.
Sometimes I hate being a woman
the other times, I dislike hatred as an emotion.
For the days when I crave love,
I understand there are most of the days
I hate; so hate being loved.
The apathy that the hormones generate
The irritation that I frequently get
The anger,
The dissonance and the disconnection
Why couldn't my life be simple
where I could just love and be loved
I question
Why should I be the one paying the
a penalty just for the reason of giving birth to a new life?
Shouldn't I be getting the respect I deserve for bearing all that pain;
before and after begetting a new human?
Why does my body succumb every month to a disaster that is bound for an eruption?
Why there are only few days that I like to talk while the rest of the other
I just like everyone; everyone
including me to shut the fuck up.
Sometimes I so hate being a woman
for how all these pain are just taken as a means to blame you,
shame you, or to laugh at you.
the other times, I dislike 'hatred' as an emotion.
Dear Happiness,
Why am I afraid of you
to touch you
to feel you to kiss you like the way I did yesterday
wonder if its because
of my low self-esteem
or, the thought that I am so undeserving
I am fearful of you; to come closer to you
and sens you again.
Is my trauma that brilliant
that it shakes and extracts my deepest sadness
or, have I become habituated to live in pain?
Oh! Happiness, my long lost friend
I so want to sit down and
have a conversation with you
Why can't I kiss you any more?
Sometimes I wonder
how the unconditional love that we promised,
is centered between our legs,
its exclusiveness between him and her, her and him,
the purity of our body,
and the act that is just between thee.
sometimes I wonder,
what do you call a mistake,
the expression of emotions on the submission of it.
Who is the victim, you, me or him,
Who is the culprit?
I, you or the others?
Or is it easy to blame the time,
that little pinch of time that
we could not be mindful of or the one
when we were overtly mindful?
What is love?
The one we felt yesterday
when we were far yet close
or the one that we are living today
close yet far.
Sometimes I wonder how we are similar yet different
than Shakespeare's Romeo Juliet.
Alive in our bodies,
but dead in our thoughts.
As much as the love I shower
Probability is that, however,
Obedient aren't my thoughts always
Lacks the empathy, my heart some days
Objectification of emotions was not the intention
Grateful for your presence
Yours and only yours truly, dearly I am sorry.
Years, it has been, years tath you are gone.
Most of the days, I feel like I have moved on.
I find myself in the warmest of arms
I giggle in the brightest of charms.
Did I stop breathing after you?
No, of course not.
I have counted each breath and lived
each and every moment.
I have seized every other opportunity
that you wanted me to have it.
I agree that I stumbled, yet didn't fall.
I cried, yes, I cried, yet I didn't die.
I found love, yes I found love again.
Yet, yet there's a string
in my heart that shimmers
in those lovelies of moments,
and wrenches my heart,
takes me back
throwing me to the moment
when you had asked me to wait for your call.
But you left me where no network gets signal.
sometimes it's the song that you sang.
The other times, its my mellow heart itself
longs for you to call my name.
Don't I love the one who calls me love now?
Oh, yes more than may be I had thought of how,
yet, I am weak in that flicker of a moment.
That longs for your last phone call and
only wishes for you to say "Let's hang up".
actually, two lumps growing.
I never shared; feared
how the conversation would gear.
But it gave me pain, excruciating pain
making me feel I would die.
Few days into it, my mom
noticed, gave me a whit samij,
a tight wear beneath my shirt that helped me hid my lump,
and told, "tero supari dana chhop",
hide your area nut, a metaphor
for our budding breast.
I hid it, hid it with all my width
until I was 20 and my boyfriend
wanted to touch it.
I removed his hand in agony
terrorizing with the thought
how it hasn't grown much
since the day I had hidden it in bay.
He pleaded, I slowly unbuttoned
and placed his hands
on my bosom, it pained more,
different than before
still his hands placed there
he share, "timro ta kasto sano raicha"
"Your breasts are small."
It kept on repeating, repeating and repeating:
heating up my heart and mind,
I rushed to buy
a padded bra that, with a piecing rod
it pained again, yes different,
it even left a mark on my chest
looks like a red smile underneath my
pink nippled breast.
I turned 30, the journey continued.
I wonder how my breast feels confused
if it knows its size,
its actual size,
how it looks, red or pink, small or big?
Who am I?
It is confused.
I know just like me it wears a personality
and adjusts based on its outer covering.
Let me hold this time
pause the moment when
you were high on rhyme
all focused on exploring inches of me
one by one
length and breadth
giving me goosebumps,
an experience
where I succumbed, screamed, and leaned
back into your arms
Let me hold the time back.
